


Vacation

by Lady_Paper_Writerson



Category: DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Flirting, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-07 03:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20302621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Paper_Writerson/pseuds/Lady_Paper_Writerson
Summary: It's practically impossible to take some time off while on a mission.... or is it?





	Vacation

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! ^_^
> 
> This is a story for all of us that never want the summer to end. :) And if you do want it to end, well... it's still a Slade story. XD I hope you guys enjoy! :)
> 
> And here's a song for each chapter, just because. XD
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_dtB6rAbMv0

“Here,” Wintergreen says, passing him a piece of bordered gauze.

Slade takes it and applies it over the wound across his stomach, wincing a little at the contact, as Billy moves to stitch the wide cut on his right arm. “This one’s deep,” he comments, and Slade hums. “You must have pissed her off _good_. You and Shiva get along, most of the time. What was it all about this time?”

With his free hand, Slade reaches into one of his pockets and carefully drags out a yellowish-brown piece of scroll, torn apart by its almost two and a half thousand years of age. He holds it up for Bill, who glances at it, narrowing his eyes.

“Hieroglyphs? That’s what you had to obtain? This is supposed to give the directions to what you’re looking for?”

Slade offers a nod. “Apparently, I wasn’t the only one hired to look for this.”

“What does it say?”

“Damned if I know,” he murmurs, “I might have an idea, though.”

“Lazarus Pit?”

It’s the most probable guess. With all known Pits currently destroyed, his current employer’s desperation was growing strong, always accompanied by an epic lack of patience and zero tolerance to delay. So, yes. The whereabouts of another Pit, most probably. Truth be told, though, one could never be certain when it came to the Demon’s Head.

“How ‘re you about to translate it?” Billy asks, amused. “You can’t do it online; she and whoever’s hired her will be on the look-out. Probably also checking all experts around the world.”

Slade takes a breath. “I’ll think of something while I lay low. I’ll take it easy, until she loses all tracks.”

Billy finishes the stitches. “You could stay here, you know.”

“Eager to get rid of me?” Slade snorts.

“Well, obviously,” he boldly states, “but also, look where this job brought you. Beautiful country. Beautiful people. Good chance to… you know. _Relax_.”

Slade chuckles. “You want me to call this vacation?”

“Hey,” he shrugs, throwing away the needle. “Have you seen Lucifer? Even the devil called it vacation at some point.”

* * *

Beautiful it is. Slade can’t help but admit that.

It’s one of those places blooming with life, yet never getting annoyingly crowded. People of all ages, casually dressed, talking and laughing out loud, cordially, strolling in the long street right by the port. The sea _breathes_, magnificently crystal-clear, to the point that one can see the bottom around fifteen to twenty feet underneath, despite the various little yachts and boats resting around.

The sea, the town, the people, everything wholeheartedly breathing heavily in the late summer heat. In the gentle, cool breeze of the sundown.

It’s nice. As is the bar he eventually chooses to enter.

Second-to-last on the street, close to where it ends, where steep rocks meet the salty water. Dimly lit, with comfortable, calming and relaxing atmosphere, and tones of red, yellow and blue-green ruling around. The surface of each table as well as the chairs are of polished wood, and each one carries a sitting pillow, beset with traditional patterns, in shades of red and creamy white. Not too many clients in, and most of them have chosen the outside tables; one couple, two young women, a company of five men. There’s a duo of two more sitting inside, at the stools of the bar counter, where Slade also heads.

He immediately knows he’s made a good choice of place when he lays eye upon the girl behind the counter, who’s currently mixing up a cocktail. She’s young, twenty-something, naturally sun tanned, maybe 5’5’’ of height. Long, brown hair falls in light, sea tousled waves down her shoulders and back. As soon as she finishes preparing the drink, she waves at the waitress to come and get it, and then notices him, and approaches with an automatic, genuine smile.

If she looked pretty from afar, from up close, she’s _beautiful_. Almost shining. Her face is as bright and clear as her smile. Her eyes cognac brown and almond shaped, the lips painted in a light shade of red. Her simple black top with the thin stripes only allows a small glimpse of bosom, but it’s obvious that this is generous, as well.

Yep. This should do.

“Hello there, mister pirate,” she smiles at him, resting her elbows over the counter -good English, slight accent. Beautiful voice.

Slade smirks. “What gave me away?”

She lets out a small laugh. “What can I get you?”

He leans forward a little, maintaining eye contact. “Something… warm and sparkling. Like your eyes.”

Damned if the wild, red blush on her cheeks isn’t just incredibly cute. The slight awkwardness is proof that, even if she _gets_ that a lot, she doesn’t _do_ that a lot, but she doesn’t allow herself to lose her nerve for too long. She turns to the shelves of the bottles behind her, glancing at him over her shoulder. “You do realize I could serve you one of the most expensive ones, right?”

“As long as you know your drinks, girl, be my guest.”

Slade leers at the curve of her waist as she picks up an elegant bottle from the top shelf. When she comes back, drawing a glass along as well, Slade notices the etiquette; Ron Zacapa - Edición Negra. She’s being generous, letting a little more than the usual doze slide into the glass (which hopefully means she likes him already), and then adding one single big ice cube.

“Nice,” he applauds. “Pour one for yourself too.”

She’s a little surprised, but doesn’t hesitate. “Thank you—?” she says politely, like the good girl she so obviously is, grabbing another glass.

“Slade.”

“Slade,” she tries it in the smile of those lips, and it sounds gorgeous coming from her mouth. “That’s actually a pretty cool name for a pirate,” she observes, pulling up a small bowl of salted peanuts. “I’m Julia. Jul.”

“Hmm. Nice to meet you, Jul,” he smirks.

She briefly bites her bottom lip and gets a little more of that red color in her cheeks. Yes, she definitely doesn’t do that a lot, but the slight awkwardness is kind of cute. “Where are you from?”

“Good, not-so-old US.”

“Ah,” she sighs, dreamingly. “Long way from home. Taking some time off?”

“So it would seem,” he nods, realizing that he’s starting to accept that.

“I’ll get there one day. In the US. I’ll road trip across the entire country.”

“That’s a mood,” he chuckles. “And when is this going to happen?”

“Well… when I have money, obviously… and a driver’s license, of course.”

“You don’t have a license? How old are you?”

“Twenty-two. It’s different here. You get it whenever you like. _And_ whenever you have the money.”

“Is that what you’re doing in here? Making money?”

She winces a little, but doesn’t lose her smile. “Yeah, but not for cool things like that. For the time being, I’m just trying to get through my Masters…”

A trio of loud young men rush through the door and to the counter, two seats from where they stand, and she gets distracted. “Sorry. Duty calls.”

Slade nods and watches her from afar for a while as she approaches the new clients, before he takes out his phone to put it on the counter and check out the pictures he’d taken. The ones of the scroll.

Deadlines are always an annoying restriction. Over the years, he’s ended up to the conclusion that the vast majority of people work far more quickly and efficiently -and pleasantly as well, for that matter- when they don’t have to worry about the constant, unspoken pressure of a deadline. They almost view it as a form of threat. However, one has to learn to deal with them appropriately, if they really want to build up a reputation. Slade already _has_ that reputation, and even though Ra’s al Ghul hasn’t delivered an exact deadline, he _has_ made it clear that he expects results within minimum amount of time. That he doesn’t have too much of it in his hands (which is another strong indication that the so well encrypted location in that scroll is nothing but the whereabouts of yet another Lazarus Pit).

He needs to translate this. Find the revealed location. And those things need to happen _fast_. Away from the internet -even the dark web. Not contacting any experts on the matter… unless he went to find one in person.

He might as well end up in a fucking library, doing it himself.

Obtain that ancient scroll. Follow the directions. Find the location. When he took the job, everything was rather clear. He certainly didn’t anticipate a conflict with Shiva over it. Nor could he have ever imagined that the fight with her would somehow prove to be the easy part.

“No way! Don’t you tell me you’re a colleague?”

Slade lifts his head. The girl’s standing close to him once more, serving vodka in tall glasses.

“A colleague?”

She shrugs, pointing with her eyes to his cell. “Are you an archaeologist?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Are _you_?”

She opens her hands widely. “I told you; I’m just supporting myself through my Masters here. Egyptology,” she gets closer and narrows her eyes a little. “What era is this from?”

Slade barely holds his jaw from dropping. He instantly turns the cell fully to her. “You think you can read this?”

She leans over it to take a better look. “You know, not right now, I need a thousand things, but… yeah, I can give it a shot.”

Slade takes a few moments to silently review his options. “How long would it take if you had to work with no internet?”

“What, like… not at all?” she sounds surprised.

“Not one bit.”

“Well… much longer, that’s for sure… but I do have some books, and I can find the rest of what I need in the college library. It’s open for a few hours even at summer months. Considering my program, I’d say… maybe a week?”

Slade considers it. “How about three to four days, max?”

“What?” she gasps a little. “No way! I don’t think I’d have the time…”

He reaches into one pocket, without making eye contact, and retracts a handful of cash. Her breath catches, which, to her credit, doesn’t try to hide.

“I do realize your time would be valuable,” he drawls, knowing fully well that, even if he hadn’t offered the money, she’d probably done it for free. “Like… five hundred bucks expensive?”

The girl lightly bites her bottom lip, staring at the money in his hands, and then, quite boldly, states, “More like… _a thousand_ bucks expensive.”

Slade… smirks. He does have a soft spot for a beautiful, smart young thing who knows when to grab a chance. “Girl… someday, you’re gonna go far.”

She reaches out to take the money, but suddenly her hand stops mid-air, her eyebrows knitted in a cue frown. “Are you a smuggler?”

Slade’s smirk widens. “No.”

She takes a short breath. “Is it possible that this is going to get me in trouble with the police? Or, you know… considering that you mentioned ‘no internet’… any of those… dark web people?”

“Absolutely not.” With someone more dangerous, perhaps. But, if it comes to that -which he doesn’t believe it will- Slade will take care of this. “And I’d say that you can use internet for basics. The rule mostly applies for me at the time. It’s your own field of specialty. It won’t be strange if _you_ are the one looking for such things.”

Jul takes the money, with a slight reluctance. He appreciates her subtlety, the fact that, apart from ensuring that she’s not going to get in trouble for this, she respects the privacy, not asking anything else.

“Three to four days?” she says.

Slade nods, emphatically.

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr: [Lady Paper Writerson's](https://ladypaperwriterson.tumblr.com/)


End file.
